Rose Petals
by googleit6
Summary: All Desmond wanted was to gain control. All Altair could do was lose it. *Major Brotherhood spoilers*


**A/N: Hey there! Welcome to the story! This idea has been kicking around in my head for a while, so I hope you enjoy it!~

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Even though Desmond hadn't moved slower in his life, he felt like he had been moving at a thousand miles an hour. Lucy lay at his feet in a puddle of her own blood while Shaun and Rebecca stood oblivious as statues- which they were, in a way.

Desmond stared down at Lucy, a solid mass of emotion fighting to burst out of him at any moment. Presently, however, he was in a state of non-feeling, merely an observer, not really part of the scene at all. He was just a spectator, watching this horror play out for some other poor bastard on the screen, because _he _could not have been the one to stab Lucy, to kill the one who had saved his life.

"Juno!" He shouted, his voice bordering on the hysteria he had never had to use before. "Juno! What did you make me do? You can't just leave! Juno!" Desmond felt his breathing speed towards hyperventilation.

With the emotional vomit still threatening to spew at any moment, Desmond bent down next to Lucy, and hesitantly touched her cheek. It was cool. With a sharp intake of breath, he stood up and turned his back- to face the entrance of the tomb. And then he knew he was insane, and this all must be a dream, for he could have sworn there was a _person _making their way towards him. A moving, _breathing _person.

Desmond felt himself being pulled in two directions- to Lucy's side, and to investigate the being that had infiltrated the tomb alongside them. With a sickening realization, Desmond knew. It must be the police. Someone had informed them of the break in of the Coliseum, and now they were coming to investigate. They would find one man alive, one woman most likely dead, and two living statues. It definitely wasn't going to look good for him. Then again, it _was _his fault that Lucy now lay dying, helpless, right in front of him.

With a garbled sound that almost resembled a moan, Desmond bend down next to her again, ready to protect her from whoever was unfortunate enough to have happened on their location. Suddenly, Desmond felt a weight on his wrist. The hidden blade. Looking at the blood stained blade, Desmond gritted his teeth, standing in a defensive position, ready to defend what he had already destroyed.

He heard nothing, but knew that the person must have seen them as well, and was probably being cautious.

"I know you're out there." Desmond called in what he hoped was a steady voice.

He waited, casting intermittent glances down at Lucy. _There will be time for that later_, he told himself, _let the grief come later. Protect her first._

He heard a soft step on the staircase, right in front of him. He swallowed, not taking his eyes off the top of the stairs.

"Don't shoot!" A familiar voice called as the top of a head appeared over the top stair.

At the sound of the voice, Desmond felt the ground he was standing on start to collapse. He was definitely, certifiably insane now. It couldn't be who he thought it was. It was _impossible_.

However, the figure kept walking up the stairs, revealing more of himself as he went. He was dressed simply, in a dark red hoodie and cargo pants. His hood was up, casting his face in shadow.

"Well, isn't this a coincidence." The figure had the tone of a permanent smirk in his voice. "After all these years of no one showing up here, we've suddenly got a pretty good party going."

Desmond felt his eyes widen.

"Take your hood down." He tried to demand it, but it came out as more of a whisper.

Desmond could just make out the shadow of a smile cross the man's face as he reached up with both hands and pulled his hood down.

"CHRIST!" The man's smile got wider as he watched Desmond stumble backwards, tripping over his own feet, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"This is insane. I'm dreaming, I'm still in the Animus. It's the Bleeding Affect. I'm dying. I must be dying. Do I use drugs? Did they drug me? Am I-"

"This is real," The man informed Desmond, no hint of amusement in his voice anymore. "Though, an old friend of mine might have something to say about that. I'm sure you'd remember? Nothing is true, everything is permitted. So maybe it isn't real because it isn't true, because it _can't _be true, you see? _Nothing _is true. Ah, but I digress. You were about to gasp my name for dramatic effect?"

Desmond gulped, hardly able to hear him over the roaring in his ears.

"Altaïr." He breathed.

Altaïr grinned.

"Hello, Desmond." Altaïr pushed up his right sleeve to reveal a mechanism similar to Desmond's hidden blade, though it didn't appear to be made of the same material. "Metal is a bitch to get through the airport, and even more troublesome if it's in the shape of a weapon. Can you believe that?" He snorted, activating the hidden blade. It looked to be about an inch longer than Desmond's, and was pitch black. "Pretty, hm?" Altaïr asked, running his finger along the tip and drawing a fair amount of blood. He sucked on his finger for a moment, as if in deep thought.

"OH! I apologize. This must be quite a shock for you. Y'know, seeing the ancestor you thought was dead almost a thousand years ago walking around, wearing Nikes and speaking with an American accent. I'm just a regular guy, Desmond. I'm a "bro". Get it? Cause I'm part of a Brotherhoo- Ah, you don't get it. Nevermind. Isn't it great how we look _exactly _alike? I grew my hair out in the 90's, but it was never really my thing. Must be genetic, hm? And that _scar _on our lip! Of course, Ezio got his from a rather aggressive rock, but that was all coincidence. A pretty nifty one, though, if I do say so myself. Oh, I wish Ezio was around these days, but before you ask, I can assure you that he's rotting away in the ground with the rest of the people from my time and his time. In fact, it's a little disquieting to think about, isn't it? That we'll all just be some worm's dinner one day, only to be shit out and re-eaten, and so on and so forth. Of course, it's even more disquieting to think that I should be part of that process right now, and should be getting shat out for about the millionth time, but I've got to say, I'd much rather this."

"You're supposed to be dead!" Desmond exclaimed, unable to concentrate on anything but that one point.

Altaïr sighed. "That's no way to treat your extremely great grandfather, is it? Get it? Cause I'm _extremely _great? No? Anyways, you should be happy to see me! I'm a legend! To those who care, anyways. And I'll bet you care, because I'm fucking _brilliant_. I'm like an aspiring nerd assassin's wet dream. I killed _Genghis Khan _for Christ's sake. We've just got to face it- I'm awesome."

Altaïr delivered every single sentence with a slow, even voice, reminiscent of the one Desmond had heard in the Animus. However, the smugness was something new. When Desmond first started to relive Altaïr's memories, the assassin had been extremely proud and arrogant, but this smugness had an almost malevolent quality to it.

"Oh! And there's little Lucy! Tsk tsk, Desmond. Not treating your lady friend very kindly, are you? And then _leaving _her to that agony. Now, _that _is how you get rid of a bitch."

"I- what? You mean she can feel it?"

"Feel it? She just got stabbed. She's way beyond feeling it. All she knows right now is pain. She's still alive, as are Shaun and Rebecca. They just can't move. Hell, they can even see us."

Desmond felt his heart drop a few inches. He dropped to his knees, putting his hand on Lucy's arm.

"Lucy, Lucy, oh God, I'm so sorry! Please, there was nothing I could do. I'm so sorry; I don't know how they made me do it. I'm going to fix this, okay? I'll figure out a way… Altaïr and I will figure out a way."

"Uh…" Desmond felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked around, only to see Altaïr staring at him in consternation. "I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but… I'm not here to help you. In fact, if you were anyone else touching my Apple, I'd have to kill you."

"What?" Desmond asked flatly.

"Yeah… This is awkward…" Altaïr backed away slowly, and Desmond suddenly realized that Apple was no longer on the floor where he had dropped it, and there was a very Apple shaped bulge in Altaïr's pocket.

"What are you doing?" Desmond shouted, standing up in one, swift motion.

"Hey, the Bleeding Affect is really paying off! That was pretty smooth." Altaïr congratulated him. "But, in answer to your question, I'm coming to take back _my _property. I'd like to help, but… Well, no, actually, I wouldn't like to help. The Apple and I don't really do favours. But, hey, good luck unfreezing your girlfriend and company!"

"No way, you aren't just going to fucking _leave _me!" Desmond exclaimed, panic ringing loud and clear in his voice.

"Actually…" Altaïr gave Desmond a look that was almost empathetic. "I am."

And he turned and ran.

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**Notes: There you go. So it's pretty much my idea for Assassin's Creed 3. Altair just never died. I'd like to add, I have some evidence to back it up. If you look in the Assassin's Creed 1 handbook, it states his birthdate, but not his death date. I have another reason, but can't state it, because I don't want to spoil anything.**

**Yeah, I know it's a little weird. But pretty much the spark for this story was, "What if the villain you had to face in the last game was the hero from the first game?" I also played around with the idea of Altair being an ally, so don't rule that out either. We'll just have to see where the story takes itself. Anyways, hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you like the idea, or think it's just way too out there.**


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